


Tactical Magic

by Iverna



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Captain Swan - Freeform, Captain Swan Supernatural Summer, F/M, a match made in heav...well, demon!killian, witch!emma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 03:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15088328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iverna/pseuds/Iverna
Summary: Emma Swan is a witch, still new to the job and determined to stop Zelena after almost falling victim to her machinations. When she summons a spirit to help her, she gets Killian Jones, demon of vengeance, who has grown extremely weary of helping people with their petty revenge schemes. Neither of them is best-pleased with this turn of events.Emma is out for more than revenge. But maybe, Killian has more to offer. And together, they might just be able to make it work.





	Tactical Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer over on Tumblr. Cover art by wingedlioness: http://wingedlioness.tumblr.com/post/175354495583/tactical-magic-by-winterbythesea-for-cssns

Emma brushed her hair out of her face, wiped her palms on her jeans, and heaved a sigh as she gave her handiwork a critical look. The pentagram outlined on the floor was a little crooked, and the rosemary in the burner was the dried, shredded kind from the store, but she was pretty sure that those were irrelevant details.

Nevertheless, she hesitated. She might be a novice at this witchcraft thing, but even she knew that summoning spirits was not something to be done lightly.

But she was out of options, and she knew that, too.

She went to light the candle. It was one of the cinnamon-scented ones that she usually lit when she curled up on the couch with a good book. Probably not standard witch equipment, either, but it was what she had.

“Here goes nothing,” she muttered, and with the flick of a thought, a flame sprung to life on the candle wick.

She’d never summoned anything before. It wasn’t common practice; the generally-accepted wisdom among witches was that bargains with demons were rarely worth the price. She had never even witnessed a summoning, nor heard a firsthand account of one, so she had no real idea what to expect. She’d always assumed that it worked more or less like every other kind of magic. You did the necessary things, and if you did them right, other things happened. No fuss, no fanfare. She’d assumed, in a vague, half-subconscious sort of way, that it was more or less the same across the board.

She had been wrong.

There was a noise like distant thunder. Black smoke began to pour from a point in the centre of the circle, billowing outwards across the floor and rising up into the air. Sparks erupted in the air, crackling and hissing as they danced around the smoke. Emma took an instinctive step back.

The smoke cleared, leaving behind a lone figure. A man, at least in shape—taller than Emma by a good few inches, standing in a wide stance, head slightly bowed. It— _he_ —was clad from head to toe in black. Leather pants, long leather duster, a satiny vest, and a high-collared shirt that was only half-buttoned, showing a generous expanse of pale-skinned chest with a dusting of dark hair and a silver necklace.

He stood amid the wisps of smoke and falling sparks like a rock star on a stage. Darkness and danger clung to him, but he didn’t look like any spirit or demon she’d ever heard of. In fact, he looked for all the world like—

“A pirate?” Emma said, a little thrown off by his dramatic entrance. “Really?”

He lifted his gaze to her. Blue eyes glared at her, all the more startling in their brightness against the dark rim of his lashes. “Former pirate, as it happens.”

He straightened, everything from his movements to his posture spelling out his reluctance, like a boy who’s been told to sit up straight in class. Leather creaked. “Killian Jones, at your service.”

“Uh,” Emma said, still a little off-balance. He was handsome, too. She hadn’t expected that—even though she probably should have. “I’m Emma. Swan.”

“Delighted,” he said, his tone making it clear that he wasn’t. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Swan?”

Emma hesitated, still looking at him. So far, this really wasn’t going the way she’d expected. She’d always imagined demons—at least the helpful ones—as more or less old, kind, and wise. This guy looked like none of the above.

And she’d really had enough of being tricked.

He noticed her reluctance, and cocked a dark eyebrow. “Something the matter, love?”

“You don’t really look like a demon.”

He bristled. “ _You_ don’t look much like a witch.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

He waved a hand. “Well, if we’re resorting to stereotypes, you ought to be rather older. Perhaps a wart, or a crooked nose, that sort of thing.”

“I’m sorry I’m too young for you,” Emma snapped.

He grinned in a way that made Emma regret her choice of words. “I didn’t say _that_.”

To her consternation, Emma felt a slight tremor somewhere in her stomach. A tiny little tingle. The slightest urge to lean a little closer to him.

She ignored it. “Look, are you going to help me or not?”

“Oh, I expect so,” Killian said with a sigh. “I don’t suppose there’s any point telling you that vengeance rarely works out the way you expect.”

“Vengeance?” Emma repeated.

“Oh, come now, there’s a reason why _I’m_ here,” Killian said, in that same bored tone. “So what is it? Someone took your job? Best friend wore it better? Boyfriend cheated on you? Husband traded you in for a younger, prettier model?” He seemed to reconsider that last, his eyes sweeping briefly down her body. “Not that I see how _that’s_ possible, but I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

“Can you—what? No.” Emma shook her head, frowning at him. “I just need some help with dealing with Zelena.”

He cocked one dark eyebrow, still looking bored. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“She’s—” Emma shrugged. “She’s a witch. She tried to steal my magic.”

“Tried? And failed, I presume, since you put it that way.”

“Well, yes.”

“Word of advice then, love,” Killian said wearily. “Vengeance isn’t worth any price I could ask of you. Let it go.”

“If I let it go, she’ll do it to someone else,” Emma said, a new wave of anger rising inside her at the thought. “I need to stop her.”

“Stop her?” For the first time, something akin to interest lit Killian’s eyes. The difference it made was remarkable. Without the sneering indifference, he was really quite handsome.

Not the most handsome man Emma had ever met; she’d been living amongst fae and demi-gods for most of her life, after all. But handsome enough to make a woman want to look twice—maybe even three times.

“You don’t want revenge?”

“What? No.” Emma shook her head, both in answer to Killian’s question, and to try and clear it. She had no business thinking that a guy like him was attractive.

“Then... why am I here?” Killian asked. He looked genuinely puzzled now, his earlier arrogance gone.

“What d’you mean? I summoned you.”

“Yes, but why?” he asked. “I’m vengeance, not justice. Why me?”

“What?” Emma’s brow furrowed. Had she messed up the ritual? “Vengeance?”

“Aye, just that,” he said, frowning back at her. Then he looked down, his gaze sweeping over the candles, the symbols, the still-smoking herbs. “Ah. You used that one. A general call for help, was it?”

“Yes,” she said, maybe a little defiantly. So she wasn’t a summoning veteran, so what? It was because she could handle her own problems. She didn’t need demonic help.

Usually, anyway.

“Well, that’s just bloody stupid,” Killian spat, not looking at her.

“Hey, buddy, you’re in _my_ house,” Emma snapped. “Answering _my_ call. I’m not the one—”

“I didn’t mean you,” he cut her off. He took a deep breath. “My apologies. It appears there’s been something of a mix-up.”

“No kidding,” Emma muttered, wanting to punch something. She _would_ end up with a vengeance demon instead of an actually helpful one. It was typical. This kind of thing would never happen to someone like Regina.

“Right. Well. I’ll just banish you, and—”

“Wait,” Killian burst out, holding up both arms. For the first time, Emma noticed that he was missing a hand, his left. In its place was a wicked-looking metal hook. He seemed to realise it at the same moment, dropping his left arm back at his side as if afraid to frighten her. He smiled, and that was remarkable too, the way he could make the expression look like a gift, a peace offering. “Wait. Perhaps we can figure something out.”

“You made it pretty clear that this isn’t your area of expertise.”

He took a step towards her, talking fast. “Yes, I did, but,” his smile became almost manic in its effort to persuade her, “I’m rather good at improvising, and I’m the only help you’re likely to get, because the only reason why I’m here in the first place is that there was no one else to send.”

Emma gave him an arch look. “Wow. You’re really selling yourself here.”

“What’s the harm in trying?” Killian asked, almost pleading. “Come on, Swan. Live a little.”

“Live a little?” Emma demanded. “I didn’t summon a damn demon because I wanted to _live a little_ , Jones. I have an actual _problem_.”

“I understand that,” he said hurriedly. “But I’m being quite serious. I’m resourceful. I can help.”

Emma considered it, already aware that it was a terrible idea. Everything about him told her that he was a complication she didn’t need. Not to mention... “And the price?”

He grinned. “No charge.”

“Nice try. I know there has to be a price.”

He grimaced. “Fine. Something you can bear to part with, then.” He paused briefly. “Have you petted a cat recently?”

Emma frowned. She _had_ a cat, a temperamental but affectionate black one she’d adopted in a fit of traditionalism. “Sure.”

“How about that, then,” Killian said. “The last time you petted a cat. I can’t, you see,” he added, apparently seeing the confusion on her face. “No cat would let something like me near it.”

Some _one_ , Emma wanted to correct. What she said was, “Seriously? That’s your price?”

“Aye.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch, love.” Killian regarded her for another moment, and he clearly saw the suspicion on her face, because he sighed. “Full disclosure, then. I’ve been stuck in this job for nigh-on three centuries now, following a rather regrettable set of events when my quest for vengeance didn’t quite work out the way I’d hoped. But if I prove myself, if I show that I can do _more_ , I might finally escape it.”

Emma considered this. She hadn’t realised demons—or spirits, or whatever—had jobs. “I take it you can’t just quit?”

Killian’s smile was tinged with bitterness. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way, no. Think of it like the genie in that godawful movie everyone seems to love. I’m stuck. Cursed, as it happens.”

She raised her eyebrows at the slight against _Aladdin_. “I take it I don’t get three wishes.”

“Oh, that depends on what you wish for,” he said with a wink. “We might be able to come to an arrangement.”

“Never mind,” Emma said quickly, trying to ward off the thoughts that his words—and his face—were conjuring up. “Just help me stop Zelena, all right?”

“Ah, so we have an accord?” he asked. With a flick of his hand, a length of parchment unrolled, covered in elegant, looped script. “Just sign on the dotted line, then, if you would.”

“Seriously?”

He shrugged. “I’m sure you understand the importance of having one’s paperwork in order.”

Emma, who frequently did not have her paperwork in order, sighed and reached for a pen. “Fine.”

 As soon as she’d signed, Killian whisked the paper away, a wide grin on his face now. The difference it made was startling. If she ignored all the leather, she could almost forget that he was a demon.

She gestured towards the kitchen. “You want a drink?”

He looked utterly startled. “What?”

“A drink?” she repeated, suddenly unsure. Could demons drink? She’d never heard anything to suggest they couldn’t, but...

“That—yes.” He smiled again. “Please.”

She turned towards the kitchen, but stopped again when she realised he hadn’t moved. She opened her mouth to ask him if he was coming—and caught herself just in time. Of course he wasn’t. He was stuck in the damn circle.

“Sorry,” she said, hurrying back and scuffing at the chalk with the tip of her boot. “Sorry, I—here. Come on. What?”

He was staring at her again, his eyebrows high. “You’re letting me out?”

“Uh...” She frowned, off-balance again. She really should have looked into this whole summoning thing more. “Shouldn’t I?”

“No, please don’t misunderstand, it’s fine,” he said hurriedly. “It’s just that people usually prefer to keep me... controlled.”

Emma felt a frisson of fear at the words, but shrugged it off. “We have a deal. I think you’ve got more to lose than I do, if you break it.”

“That’s what I keep telling them,” he muttered, stepping out of the circle with the air of a man escaping prison. “You have a lovely home.”

Emma looked around at the worn couch, the bare walls, the coffee table and shelves that were more shabby than chic. “Thanks,” she said sarcastically. “It’s actually not half-bad when it’s clean.”

“I was being sincere,” he told her, cocking his head to the side and regarding her with a gleam in his blue eyes. “I gather you aren’t used to that.”

“I gather you aren’t used to actual lovely homes,” she retorted, realising as she said it just how harsh that sounded. If anyone said that to her, it would sting. “Come on. You still want that drink?”

He regarded her for another moment, shaking his head—not in answer, but in wonder. “You’re unlike any other witch I’ve ever met,” he said. “By all means, lead on.”

 

*  *  *

 

Demons, as it turned out, could drink. And eat, though Killian admitted that it had been a long time since he’d had a proper meal. Not that pop tarts and leftover pizza constituted a proper meal.

She glared at him when he pointed this out. “Fine. You want to cook, be my guest.”

“Don’t say that, Swan,” he said, cocking an eyebrow. “I’ll take you up on it.”

She shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

Emma was all too aware that she was being terribly inappropriate. Unlike her, Killian had clearly experienced plenty of summonings, and it was just as clear that none of them had gone like this.

The problem was that she had no real idea how they were supposed to go. She had a dawning suspicion that she should have kept him in the circle and made him do her bidding. The thought of that made her squirm.

In lieu of proper etiquette, she decided to be pragmatic about the whole thing. You could never go far wrong with pragmatic.

“So,” she said, between bites of pop tart, “how do we do this?”

“That rather depends on what exactly you’re planning to do,” he said. “What were you hoping for, when you asked for help?”

“A plan,” Emma said, exasperated. “I need to take down Zelena. But she’s powerful, and she’s working with someone... his name is Walsh.”

“Does he have magic?”

“No. Just tech tricks.” Emma grimaced. “And he turns into a flying monkey.”

Killian raised an eyebrow. “A flying monkey.”

“Yes.”

“As in, an actual monkey. With wings.”

“Yes,” Emma said, not really wanting to dwell on the subject of Walsh, and definitely not wanting to hear the comments. “Look, the point is, I can’t confront her directly, and the Coven won’t help me because as far as they’re concerned, she’s done nothing wrong. I have no proof.”

“Hmm.” Killian leaned back in his chair, drink in hand. “What exactly did she do? Or rather, try to do?”

“She tried to take my magic,” Emma said.

“Aye, you mentioned that. Come now, there must be more of a story to it.”

She blew out a sigh. “Fine. She sent Walsh to... to ask me out. We dated for a while, he tried to steal my magic with this cursed tech gadget thing he’d invented, I realised it just in time. We fought, and Zelena showed up to save him. I fought back, but she was too strong. I’m guessing I wasn’t the first person they ran that con on.”

Killian nodded thoughtfully. Then he said, “Now, when you say _tech gadget_...”

Emma saw the gleam in his eyes, and knew immediately where his mind had gone. She glowered at him. “ _No_ , it wasn’t a cursed sex toy.”

“Just checking,” he said innocently. “All right. So Zelena is taking people’s magic, but she can’t do it directly. Which makes sense, considering that magic must be freely given, just as curses can only be broken with the consent of the victim. If I had to guess, this Walsh character was trying to soften you up, make you care for him.”

Emma nodded. “Yep. And then twist my feelings for him, and use them to siphon away my power.”

“Rather reprehensible,” Killian said, the humour gone from his expression now. “Bad form all around, in fact.”

“Well, joke’s on him,” Emma said lightly. “I don’t do feelings.”

Killian tilted his head to the side, considering her. “Oh, that’s not true.”

It wasn’t. She might not have loved Walsh, but his betrayal had stung too much for her to pretend she hadn’t cared. The trouble with magic was that you couldn’t hide from your feelings. People who suppressed their emotions made terrible witches. There was a reason it had taken Emma so long to embrace her magic.

Well, several reasons.

“Whatever,” she said. “I’m just saying I don’t care.”

Killian shook his head. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t bother with any of this. And if you only cared for yourself, you’d high five yourself for evading Zelena, and have done with it. That’s what a selfish bastard would do, ergo, you aren’t one of those, ergo, you care.”

It was clear, from his voice when he said the words _selfish bastard_ , that he was speaking from experience. And Emma might have let it go, if he hadn’t looked so smug. “Yeah? Is that what you’d do?”

He scoffed. “In all likelihood.”

She leaned forward. “But it’s not what you’d _want_ to do, is it?”

He looked at her. She held his gaze. The moment stretched.

“All right,” he said eventually, bowing his head, a small smile on his face. “It seems we understand each other.”

Emma swallowed. “Right. So. Any ideas? For Zelena?”

“Oh, aye.” He grinned, mischievous and exuberant. “She’s got an unfair advantage due to stealing other people’s power. So I suggest we even the playing field. If I give you my power, you ought to be able to beat her.”

Emma gave him a sceptical look. She had read up on demons somewhat, and she knew one thing: their powers were usually limited. Bound. “You can do that?”

“Well...” His smile wavered a little. “My power is only intended for vengeance. Were you out for revenge, I could simply give you what you need. As it is, we may have to get clever with it.”

 

*  *  *

 

Emma was used to getting clever with magic. Growing up, she hadn’t had much in the way of proper education; her father had no magic whatsoever. After his disappearance, she had lost faith in magic altogether, since nothing and no one seemed to be able to help.

Everything she knew was cobbled together from a mix of intuition, raw talent, books, and a few acerbic pointers from Regina. She was used to figuring things out for herself, and it was coming in useful now.

“Your power is just another form of magic,” she had told Killian. “We just need to find a way to transfer it.”

He’d snapped his fingers. “How about a focus? It wouldn’t count as my giving it to you, would it?”

She had frowned. “No, but a focus strong enough to contain demon magic isn’t gonna be easy to come by.”

His grin had lit up his face. “Leave that to me, love.”

And that was how she had found out that Killian Jones, demon of vengeance, former pirate, also knew his way around metalwork. He had informed her that it would take a while—to collect or enchant all the ingredients, and forge the metal just so under the light of a full moon—but she was okay with that.

Because, much as she hated to admit it, as irritating as he could be at times, he was good company.

In fact, he was probably the best company he’d had since her father had disappeared and Elsa had moved back to Norway.

Part of her recognised just how pathetic that was. He was annoying, and he flirted too much, and he could be blunt to the point of rudeness. Not to mention that she had _summoned_ him, for crying out loud. She had literally _made_ him come to her apartment.

But she hadn’t made him stay, another part of her insisted. He didn’t need to keep coming back. He definitely didn’t need to stay for dinner, or spend hours just talking to her, or show up with lunch and a smug grin because he’d remembered that it was onion rings, not fries.

And she could be blunt to the point of rudeness, too.

“Y’know, if your _swordplay_ is as repetitive as your puns, I don’t think I’m interested,” she told him after the third sword-related innuendo, as they worked on yet another potion to infuse yet another metal with the magic it needed.

“I assure you, there’s plenty of variation,” he shot back. “But do feel free to voice requests.” One dark eyebrow rose. “Or orders.”

She tried very hard not to think about that, and failed. Trying to dispel the mental image of Killian Jones obeying her every command, knowing there’d been no reason to imagine him naked since he hadn’t actually specified that, she glared at him. “In your dreams.”

He smirked. “Not so far, alas, but I live in hope.”

Emma wanted to keep arguing, but she was also intrigued. “Do you even dream? Or sleep?”

“I can when I get the chance, aye, but—” His eyes shuttered. “It isn’t necessary.”

There was more to it than that, she knew. Emma had always been good at spotting clues, figuring people out. Her father had always said that some people said more with silence than with words, and she’d learned to pay attention.

Why wouldn’t he get to sleep? Where did he go, when he left here? She knew that demons and other spirits resided in Neverland, but she knew almost nothing about it. Did he have a home?

“Well then,” she said, driven by the same instinct that made her check on the lone girl at the bus stop, or magic a couple of notes into the pocket of the weary-looking single mom with the holes in her shoes, or buy snacks for the skinny kid loitering in the aisle with a guilty look on his face. “You can crash on the couch whenever you want.”

It would have been the understatement of the year to say that he looked taken aback. In fact, he looked completely shocked, all his bravado falling away, blue eyes wide. “Pardon?”

She shrugged, uncomfortable. “I just meant, if you wanted to take a nap, or whatever.”

“You’d let me sleep here?” He let out an incredulous laugh, looking at her like he couldn’t believe she was real. “You really are full of surprises, Swan.”

He took her up on the offer by accident a few days later, when they sat down to watch a movie while Emma’s potion simmered in the kitchen. Halfway through _The Fellowship of the Ring_ , he was asleep, sprawled against the arm rest of the couch.

“Thought you said you liked sword-fighting,” Emma teased him when he woke up, tousle-haired and bleary-eyed. “D’you always fall asleep halfway through?”

He scowled at her, then broke into a grudging smile. “Bad form, Swan, taking advantage of my half-asleep state to best me like this. Even if I did probably deserve it.”

Emma grinned at him, and went off to stir the potion. And if she returned with a cup of tea for Killian, neither of them said a word about it.

Her cat took a while longer to warm up to their new guest. Rogue was generally a friendly cat, but his fur rose whenever he set eyes on Killian. Emma ignored this. He had gotten used to her; he would get used to Killian. Demons and cats might not mix, traditionally, but she had never much cared for tradition.

“Come on, Rogue,” she coaxed, as the cat stood in the doorway, ears flat. “I’m here, aren’t I? He hasn’t eaten me.”

“Yet,” Killian muttered. “Leave him be, Swan, it’s his instincts. Which are right.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not as scary as you think you are.”

It took a few more attempts, but eventually, she persuaded Rogue into the room. Then onto her lap. Then onto her lap when she was sitting next to Killian. And then, maybe a week after she’d started trying in earnest, Rogue stood up on her legs, and nudged Killian’s hand with his head.

She wished she’d had a camera out, just to capture look on Killian’s face.

She wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, but it did. Maybe it was just a deep-seated refusal to be intimidated, to prove that he wasn’t the big bad scary demon he’d appeared as. Maybe it was her innate need to reach out to people. Maybe she was just too damn pragmatic. But she just couldn’t bring herself to treat him like something other. He already felt more like a friend than half the people she called friends, and it had happened without her realising it.

He was temporary, that was the problem. He listened to her, he challenged her, and he was temporary, all of which made him that most dangerous of things: easy to talk to.

“Dad disappeared when I was eleven,” Emma told him, one evening as they sat sharing pizza—fresh, this time—on her old couch. Without his leather coat on, he looked a lot less imposing, more approachable somehow, though his dark-rimmed eyes, leather pants, and billowing shirt sleeves still set him apart. She kept wanting to put a hand on his shoulder. Or his arm. Or just lean against him. It was getting annoying. “Regina—head of the Coven, you know—”

“I know Regina Mills,” Killian said, nodding.

“Really?” Emma asked, interested.

He smirked. “Who doesn’t? She is, as you said, head of the Coven. And we worked together once upon a time, in her less... savoury days.”

The penny dropped. “You’re the guy who helped her take down Cora.”

He sketched a sarcastic-looking bow. “I am indeed.”

From the look on his face—behind the sarcastic smile—she could tell that he expected judgement. And maybe she should judge him, but then again, Cora had been even worse than Zelena.

“Good,” she said. “So you don’t have the qualifications, but you’ve got experience. Good to know.”

“Hey, I have qualifications.”

“Not the right ones.”

He shot her a dramatic, betrayed look, and shook his head, smiling “You were saying about Regina?”

“What? Oh.” Emma shrugged. “She says it must have been a curse. She tried to help... I think she’s still trying, actually. So am I. But he’s just gone.”

Killian’s eyes softened. “And your mother?”

Emma shrugged again. “Never knew her,” she said lightly. “Dad used to talk about her, but he never said what happened to her.”

“I’m sorry.” He must have sensed that it made her uncomfortable, because he went on, “So where did you go?”

“Oh, friends of my dad’s,” Emma said. “I lived with another witch for a while, Ingrid.” She didn’t mention that she’d run away from Ingrid’s and lived on the street for almost a year, before eventually finding her way back. She’d been determined to find her father, convinced that no one was doing enough.

Her failure had made her turn her back on magic for years.

“And Regina’s always kind of looked after me,” Emma went on. “And like I said, trying to help find my dad, but that’s a long line of dead ends.”

“Perhaps I can help,” Killian said. “With your father, I mean, once we’ve handled Zelena. If I can get free of—if I can...” He trailed off. “In any case, I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Thank you.” She cleared her throat and seized the opportunity. “So, what about you? Since we’re sharing sob stories. How’d you end up as a demon?”

“My own folly, I’m afraid,” Killian said. “I wanted vengeance, and I got more than I bargained for.”

Emma said nothing, silently prompting him to go on. He didn’t look reluctant to tell the story; she had a thought that maybe he’d been waiting for an audience for a long time.

He settled back against the cushions with a sigh. “I was in love with a woman. Milah. I’ll spare you the sordid details, but suffice to say that I angered a demon when I ran off with her. He tracked us down and killed her.” His jaw clenched at the memory, and he looked down at his lap, where his hook rested on his leg. “That’s how I lost my hand. I swore vengeance, of course. I didn’t care what it cost. And I got it—I killed the man who took my love and my hand from me. The cost was becoming _this_.”

“You took his place?” Emma guessed.

“In a way, I suppose, aye,” Killian said. “Though he was never bound to one duty as I am.”

“Did you know?” she asked. “The price, I mean?”

“Oh, aye.” He spat out a laugh. “It didn’t turn out quite as I expected, of course. I knew there would probably be a loophole, and there was, but I didn’t care.”

“But you care now. You wouldn’t have tried to talk _me_ out of it if you didn’t.”

He shrugged. “Three centuries of helping people exact meaningless vengeance, watching what it does to them, has a way of changing one’s mind on the subject.”

Emma nodded. She had never really gone in for revenge, but she had read those stories. She knew how they usually went.

“What?” Killian asked, and she realised she’d been silent for a moment, just looking at him.

She shook her head. “Nothing. You’re not what I expected, that’s all.”

He grimaced. “I know. You were hoping for a guardian spirit of some kind, yes?”

“No... I mean, yeah, but that’s not what I meant. You’re not what I would’ve expected a demon of vengeance to be like.”

“No?” His expression hovered somewhere between intrigued and apprehensive, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

She laughed. “No. Figured you’d be all tough and smoulder-y.”

“I _am_ tough and... that’s not a word.” But he gave her a dark, intense look, brows drawn down over those bright blue eyes, and bit his lip.

Her heart skipped a little. The room felt, suddenly, a little hotter. “Stop.”

His mouth curved into a wicked grin, ruining the smoulder, but replacing it with something more sincere and much worse. “Just trying to meet your expectations, love.”

“You really don’t need to, trust me, I like the reality better.” The words came out before she’d really thought them through.

He laughed then, the first really happy sound she’d heard from him. “I appreciate it. I must say, you aren’t what I expected, either. I’d resigned myself to yet another deluded, petty idiot determined to stop her nemesis from stealing her thunder at the next cookout, or wanting to show her ex-boyfriend how very over him she is... but instead, I got you.”

“Sorry,” Emma says wryly. “I guess I really am over my ex-boyfriend.”

He nodded in earnest understanding. “He _was_ a flying monkey.”

She seized a couch cushion and whacked him with it. “Shut up.”

He caught the cushion and wrested it from her, tossing it at her face. “You don’t mean that. You love my witticisms.”

“Oh, is that what you think that was?”

He laughed again, trying to glare at her through it. “You are hell on a man’s ego, Swan.”

“Hmm. Cookout rivalries looking pretty appealing all of a sudden, huh?” she joked.

“Less than ever,” he countered, grimacing. “I much prefer working with you.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, still smiling, his eyes still intent on hers, but soft now. His voice was lower, when he spoke next, sincerity written all over him, and Emma had a thought that she might be in trouble. “Oh, aye. You might just be my new favourite.”

Emma laughed, to cover the heart-stopping thrill that ran through her at the words. “Might?”

His smile widened. “Well, you are, most of the time. When you’re not yelling at me.”

Two days later, he showed up with the focus he’d been working on. It was a pendant, made of a silvery metal with a polished black stone set in the centre. Emma thought it was rather more Killian’s style than hers, and said so.

“It’s supposed to be functional, love, not aesthetic,” he said, holding it out to her. “But not to worry, I’ll get you a pretty one, too.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “I was kidding.”

“I’m not.” He winked at her again. He was very bad at it, she’d noticed. He could never quite keep his other eye open all the way. “Something to remember me by.”

It sounded almost like a question. Emma shook her head. “I won’t need it.”

His smile was wistful. “Aye. Well. To business, then, eh? Let’s try this out.” He placed his palm over hers, where the pendant lay.

Emma looked at him, and thought that she knew how this story went, too.

It was temporary, she told herself. He was bound by his duty, and she had work to do, and they were from different worlds.

But as long as they were in the same one...

She stepped closer, and kissed him. His lips were soft, surrounded by scruff that prickled against her skin, and she heard his breath catch.

Then he kissed her back, slanting his mouth over hers. She held onto the collar of his shirt, and his hand caressed her cheek and tangled in her hair, and his tongue... oh, god. He kissed her like he needed to, like it was life or death, like everything in him had been yearning for it. She knew how he felt. She hadn’t realised how much she’d longed for this, his body against hers, his arms around her, until right now.

For the first time in a long time, she felt like she wasn’t alone.

“For luck,” she managed, when they broke apart, and thought that she'd been right, before.

She was definitely in trouble.


End file.
